


Appuntamento

by Karios



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dinner Date, F/M, Food, Italian Food, Restaurants, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/pseuds/Karios
Summary: Elizabeth and Peter go out for pasta.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Appuntamento

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/gifts).



It was just past six on a Thursday. They’d distributed their silverware and plates, settled in with their drinks, and had just received their basket of warm bread. “It’s official,” Peter declared with a grin. “Date night is now underway.”

“It wasn't underway when we got here?”

“No. Something could have stopped us at that point. But now you’ve ordered the salad. We’ve committed.”

“I'm glad we did this,” Elizabeth said, as she plucked the multigrain roll out of the basket. She swirled a piece of it in the bowl of flavored olive oil and popped it into her mouth with a contented sigh. Peter followed suit with a hunk of dark rye.

“I'm just glad I'm off early enough to do this, especially since I won't see you this weekend.”

“I should never have booked both of these events back-to-back. I just couldn't decide who to turn down. And would you believe it's the wedding that's staying relatively on track, while the retirement party is the one adding guests?”

“Did Mr. Silverthorne hire a few dozen new employees on his way out?” Peter joked.

“No, no. Out-of-town guests. He’s thrilled his siblings and their families can make it after all, but he’s not the _someone_ who has to figure out how to add an extra table to the venue, update the caterer, deal with being one centerpiece short.” She huffed hard enough to blow a strand of her hair out of place, and reached up to tuck it behind her ear. “They were ordered and delivered two weeks ago; there isn't time for the company to make another,” she added, anticipating his next question.

“Put a card on the family's table that says, ‘People who RSVP on time get fancy centerpieces’.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I should, but I couldn't.”

“What's so special about it anyway? The centerpiece.”

“They're mini sculptures. Replicas of some abstract art that Silverthorne considers to be his first shipment on his way to success.” She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times then turned the screen toward Peter. “See?”

Peter nodded, and as Elizabeth went to put her phone away, a solution hit him. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure?” She handed it over.

Peter scrolled to Neal in Elizabeth’s contact list, and attached the picture to a text: _It’s Peter. Could you make one of these?_

The replies came back in quick succession: _Thought you were at dinner._

- _Why are you stealing Elizabeth’s phone?_

- _By when??_

Peter sends his answers back in a single message: _I am. Never mind that. Sunday. 2 PM._

- _Probably. How tall is it?_

Here, Peter was stymied. He handed Elizabeth the phone back. “Neal might be willing to do it. He needs to know how tall the forgeries, er replicas, are.”

Peter!” Elizabeth chastened. “We’d be putting him out. It's Neal’s weekend too.”

“We can owe him one. He likes when I owe him something.”

Elizabeth’s phone rang. “It's Neal,” she informed Peter as she picked up. “Hi Neal. Uh huh. Are you sure it's not any trouble?” Peter tuned out their conversation from that point on in favor of picking up his menu, debating his options.

He didn't get very far before Elizabeth’s salad arrived. Peter thanked their server, Tony, on behalf of both of them, and portioned himself out a half dozen or so bites on a bread plate. He wasn't much of a salad guy, but the creamy house dressing served here would taste good on an old shoe. It was a cross between the brightness of bottled Italian dressing with the creamy richness of poppyseed, minus the bits found usually floating in either. He spooned some of the white garlicky liquid over his mini salad, and dug in.

Elizabeth hung up the phone. “Neal’s on it. Ooh salad’s here.”

“Good,” Peter said, referring to both Neal and the salad. He shoved another forkful in his mouth.

Elizabeth smiled. “He actually sounded kind of excited about it. I feel a bit less bad.”

“He likes putting his skills to work for a worthwhile cause. Are you serving anything half this good at the Silverthorne party? He might be partially repaid by dinner alone.”

“It’s coq au vin, and duchesse potatoes for the main with circulating hors d'oeuvres. I’ll definitely try to snag some leftovers.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Elizabeth concentrating on her salad and humming along to the music. Some kind of classical symphonic stuff, Bach or Haydn or Mozart, was always playing. Helped muffle the general restaurant din, without the earworming effect of the top forty hits. It wasn't quite as fun as having a game on while he ate, but nice enough, and more date-night appropriate. Peter picked up the menu once more. “Know what you're getting already?”

Elizabeth nodded. “A big gooey slab of four-cheese lasagne.”

“Comfort food to fuel the battle weekend ahead. Excellent choice. Especially if I get some.”

“Being able to share is the best part of ordering lasagne. Have you decided yet?”

“No,” Peter lowered his menu. “I'm stuck between the bolognese and the large meatball.”

The large meatball perfectly showcased their amazing red sauce, but the bolognese was rich and meaty in its own right, with the added benefit of eggy ribbons of noodles. Elizabeth weighed in with, “the meatball won't reheat as well,” which called it for him.

“Good point. Bolognese, it is.” Peter set the menu aside, and then speared another mouthful of salad straight from Elizabeth’s bowl.

“You could order your own, you know,” she teased.

“This way saves a lot more lettuce and vegetables from the trash. Both economical and environmentally conscious.”

She nudged the bowl toward him, and they shared several more bites, and each ate another piece of the fragrant and still slightly warm bread, before Tony came back for their entreé orders.

He smiled apologetically. “Sorry Agent Burke, Mrs. Burke, we’re a little swamped tonight. What can I get you?”

“You’re fine, Tony. We’re not in any kind of hurry,” Elizabeth said, smiling at the young man. “I’d like the four-cheese lasagne.”

Tony jotted that down, and turned to Peter. “Bolognese, please.”

“With which pasta?”

“Tagliatelle,” Elizabeth supplied.

“Anything else?”

“A loaf of cheesy garlic bread,” Peter added.

“You got it.” Tony collected their menus and dashed toward the next table.

“I don't even care if it takes an hour. It just means I get more time to spend admiring you.” Peter grinned again.

Elizabeth chuckled. “Okay, what's got you in such a good mood?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Not exactly. I’d just like to file it away for future reference.”

“Well, I do love that dress, and I always feel happier on date night, no matter what.”

“Thank you. But?” Elizabeth prompted.

“But, mostly it's just...being glad for the relative peace. There's nothing hanging over my head right this second.” He glanced down at his jacket pocket, half expecting his phone to ring and prove otherwise. It didn't.

“So nothing new in the world of crime?”

“It’s been a few days of cold cases and mortgage fraud. I'll take anything that isn't evidence lockup, but I know Neal’s been feeling cooped up. He can likely take most of tomorrow off to deal with your centerpiece problem, and no one will be the wiser.”

“Why didn't you say that before?”

Peter shrugged. “When I anticipate a quiet, uneventful day, something comes up to throw it out the window. Usually Neal-related.”

“No insulting the party-saving hero tonight,” Elizabeth insisted.

“He hasn't done it, yet,” Peter balked. “Neal’s upstaging me and he’s not even here.”

“Oh, hon, Neal could never upstage you in my eyes. But we both know he will get it done.”

Peter agreed with only a little more grumbling. The conversation wound through several topics—Elizabeth had booked a dental cleaning for Satch, car inspections were coming up, what needed bringing to the cleaners as Peter hoped to stop by there tomorrow—that occupied them until their food arrived.

Elizabeth bid Tony her thanks as he set her lasagne down, and set to cutting half of it into forkable bites.

Peter immediately speared a piece of the buttery garlic bread. “Perfectly crisp on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. I don't know how they do it.”

“The same magic that makes these lasagne layers so even and delicious.” Elizabeth held out a bite to Peter and he slurped it off.

“You were supposed to admire the evenness!”

“I admired its flavor instead.”

It really was terrific. The blend of cheeses worked well together, and yet weren't overpowered by the seasonings in the tomato sauce. And the sauce itself: not too sour, not too sweet, with no weird spices meant to make it fancy. It was only outdone by his bowl of ragu bolognese. Rich meaty goodness spooned over perfectly boiled noodles. They dug in, their only conversation to facilitate juggling their dishes for sharing.

Even a perfect date had to eventually wind down, and as Peter’s stomach filled with bread and cheese and noodles and sauce, he started to look around. Both Elizabeth and Peter enjoyed people-watching, speculating on the lives of strangers played to strengths they both used at work. Tonight, a couple of teenagers caught Peter’s eye. “Two tables over and one back,” Peter whispered.

Elizabeth took a surreptitious glance. “They're so young!”

“Were we ever that young?”

“Not together.” Elizabeth took on a wistful look. “I bet they saved for weeks just to come here.”

“I bet it took him that long just to ask her out.”

“How do you think he did it?”

“I have a suspicion,” Peter dropped his voice even lower, “that she gave him a sign she likes Italian.”

Elizabeth’s gaze went from wistful to heated as she turned back to Peter. “Are you about ready to go home?”

“Definitely.” Peter signaled for the check.

But his favorite thing about this restaurant, the thing that gave it an edge even over the nostalgia of dining at _La Cucina de Tua Nonna_ wasn't the atmosphere, or the music, or even the food. It was how quickly Tony could bring the check when they were ready for date night, phase two.

Elizabeth's phone rang. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and sighed. “Silverthorne. I should take this. Sorry, hon.” Elizabeth stood and hurried out, answering the call as she went.

Peter didn't mind. It gave him a chance to try Elizabeth's favorite part of this place: ordering dessert when duty called. He'd save her a cannoli for later.


End file.
